


minuet

by FoxGlade



Category: Dragon Booster
Genre: Dragon Academy Era, Gen, Neurodiversity, holiday traditions are Serious Business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-07 02:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6781036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxGlade/pseuds/FoxGlade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For all that Parm will lecture about the traditions and symbols of the holiday, it's the people around them that truly make the Reap celebration special. </p>
<p>(Two spring festivals, ten years apart.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	minuet

**Author's Note:**

> from the people that brought you "extensive worldbuilding that literally no one asked for" and "do i have to create all the artha/parm content MYSELF because i WILL"..............
> 
> in a completely predictable turn of events, this ended up being much longer than planned. but its dragon christmas and dragon easter and dragon thanksgiving (DRACSGIVING) all rolled into one, with the added bonus of more good quality awkward artha/parm. what more can i say, really.
> 
> blame, as always, to shena, who is 100% responsible for the original dragontoe headcanon / prompt.
> 
> and remember kids: autistic parm is canon parm! love that canonically autistic character.

Some of the upper class in Mid City celebrate the Reap, but that’s typically when the stables are busiest with the new baby dragons, so Artha’s never had any sort of personal experience with the holiday before now. He’s kind of glad – it means he gets to spend his first one with Parm.

“No one _really_ believes in Donna anymore,” Parm says, hanging the green paper streamers over the light fitting. He pauses in his lecture to look at the decorations critically, tugging it a little one way before looking down at Artha. Artha gives a thumbs up. Parm continues, “But all the rituals are more symbolic now, like using the green streamers instead of real vines.” He pronounces every word precisely, like he could recite the exact definition of each of them. Artha doesn’t even know what symbolic means. “Well – some people use vines in Sunlight Heights. But I wouldn’t even know where to find any in Dragon City.”

“Maybe in Old City,” Artha suggests. Parm makes a shocked noise.

“We can’t go _there_ ,” he says, scandalised. Artha grins. It’s really easy to mess with Parm; not in a mean way, just to see him make that one face, or to hear his voice go all high and squeaky. Artha doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing Parm give him squeaky lectures about safety. “A-anyway, there’s also things we don’t do anymore, like the offerings.”

“Did they used to sacrifice people to the gods?!” Artha asks. Parm doesn’t look nearly as enthusiastic about that as Artha feels.

“No!” Parm says hotly. He sits down on the table, apparently done with the decoration, then scoots to the edge until he can jump back onto the floor. “They just gave their first pies of the season to the temples. To thank the gods, you know.”

“Oh.” That’s way less exciting. “We could give Cephyiss one of the dracberry tarts?”

A low laugh sounds from the doorway, and they both look up to see Fira leaning against the wooden frame. “I don’t think dracberries are good for dragons, Artha,” she says. Her eyes flick to the light fixture. “That looks nice, boys. Although, I thought we told you not to stand on the table anymore.”

Parm squeaks. “It was fine, Mom,” Artha says. “I would’ve caught him if he fell!”

She smiles, in that way she does when she’s trying not to smile. “Well, maybe I wanted to catch him, hmm? Next time, just come get me or your dad, okay?”

“Fine,” Artha sighs. He’s pretty sure he could catch Parm, if he tried. One time, he’d convinced Parm to let him give him a piggyback, and he’d carried him for at _least_ a drakometre. It was from one end of the playfield to the other, which he’s pretty sure is a drakometre.

Fira smiles, properly this time, and says, “I’m going to the market to get the baking fruits soon – did you two want to come?”

Artha kind of really does, but Parm makes a twisty sort of face, and he remembers that the market is bound to be _super_ busy today, and Parm doesn’t even like the regular sort of busy, so he says, “We’re gonna play viddgames! Parm has a new one, he says it’s really neat, it’s about this guy in ShadowTown, and—”

“Alright, my busy little men,” Fira laughs. “Your dad is looking after Lance, but you should play with him while I’m gone, okay?”

“But _Mom_ ,” Artha whines, “Lance is _stinky_.”

“I’ll play with him, Mrs Penn,” Parm says. “Could you— if you’re going to the market, for fruit, can you get some scalia?” He fidgets a little. “It’s my favourite fruit,” he adds.

“Of course,” she says. And then she crouches down, beckoning them closer. “Don’t tell your dad,” she whispers, “but I’ll try and find some dragontoe, too.”

“Oh!” Instantly Parm forgets his nervousness and says, excitedly, “I didn’t know you could get it in this city, it’s everywhere in Sunlight Heights at this time of year.”

“So I’ve heard,” Fira says, and pats his hair. “I thought you might like a bit of home, hmm?” Parm’s smile dims a bit, but he nods. He doesn’t really like to think about home, Artha knows.

“Is that the kissing plant?” he says, making a face like he’d just eaten a mouthful of yellow drag cheese. Parm _hmph_ s, that noise he makes when he’s about to correct Artha and then start another lecture.

“Actually,” he begins, “People stopped doing that ages and ages ago, they’re really only symbolic, now.” Artha still doesn’t know what that means.

“Don’t tell Conner that,” Fira says, and winks. Artha makes another face. His parents are gross.

Fira stands and brushes dust off her knees, and says, “I’ll see you both soon, hmm? And then you can be my kitchen helpers.” She kisses Artha’s cheek, making him wrinkle his nose, and then pats Parm’s hair once before leaving.

Parm still looks kind of sad, so Artha grabs his hand and drags him to the vidd room. He really does actually want to play that vidd game, after all.

 

 

 

*       *       * 

 

 

 

“Does this look right?” Parm asks. He tugs the curling vine one way along the bannister, then the other. “Which way do you think?”

“What’s the difference?” Lance asks. He’s collapsed against the wall, face glum. “Are you _sure_ we can’t eat yet?”

“Everyone eats together for the first meal of Reap,” Parm tells him. “It’s—”

“Symbolic,” Lance, Kitt, and Artha say in resigned unison. Parm _hmphs_.

“Well it is,” he says, crossly. He fidgets with the vine one more time before stepping back. By now he’s moved through every room in the upper two floors of the apartment, twice, in the name of fixing the decorations, babbling about holiday traditions as they went. And, conveniently, this means they’ve also avoided Seleb Sean since the awkward greeting between her and Parm.

“I wonder if she put pots on the roof,” Parm says. He’s tapping his fingers rapidly on the bannister as he continues, “We used to when I was a kid, but it’s really only a little kid thing to do, so I wonder if she still does it? I should check.”

“I’ll come with you,” Artha says immediately, because he can take an opportunity when he sees it. “Lance, go and check how the food’s going.” He makes eye contact with Kitt and jerks his head as subtly as he can. She seems to get it.

“Yeah, come on, squirt,” she says, pushing Lance’s shoulder. They head back down to the kitchen, and Parm hauls himself up the last of the staircase and through the roof access hatch, with Artha following slower behind him.

The view from the top isn’t impressive by Sun City standards. After six months of living in the Dragon Academy barracks, with the windows that look down on half the building on this level, it’s almost disappointing. But he remembers the first time he saw it, back when he was around Lance’s age, and he remembers how the simple sight of the unobscured sky had left him gaping and speechless for minutes.

“She didn’t put pots out,” Parm says. He’s looking around with a blank face. “She wouldn’t, I guess. I don’t know why I thought she might.” He sits down on the base of the micro turbine and folds his hands in his lap. He’s bouncing his leg as well.

Artha sits next to him, slowly, avoiding any touch. By this point, he can read Parm pretty well, and he’s pretty sure that right now is a No Touch moment. “Is it… hard?” he asks. “Being here?”

Parm doesn’t answer at first. “It’s just – weird,” he says eventually. “It’s not.” He stops, looking vaguely frustrated. “I stayed here while I worked at the university library, do you remember?”

It’d only been a few months, but it had seemed like ages when he was thirteen. “You didn’t visit at all,” he says. “I thought you really liked it here.”

He’d thought Parm was never coming back, at one point. It’s kind of embarrassing to remember, now.

Parm shrugs and picks at the broken skin around his nails. “Mum didn’t really notice me, when I was here,” he says, not answering the unspoken question. “We didn’t really talk. We never did, much, but – I thought I was remembering wrong.” His head is down, focusing on his hands. “It’s not like home. It doesn’t feel right.”

Artha’s not sure if ‘home’ refers to Parm’s old house in Sunlight Heights or Penn Stables, but either way, he thinks he gets it. “You know that old Dragon Booster movie Kitt found the other day?” he asks. Parm finally looks at him with a slightly startled expression.

“The ‘979 one?” he says.

“Yeah. When we get back to the barracks tonight, we could watch it,” Artha says. “I bet the kitchens’ll have, like, a million drakograms of leftovers from the lunch today. It’d be like a midnight feast. Except not at midnight.”

Parm huffs, but he’s smiling just a little bit, so it counts as a laugh. “Lance will want smashseeds,” he says, and that’s an agreement.

“He stole the last of mine during my mag lesson last week, he can live without them,” Artha argues. He takes one last look at the sky, slightly darker now as it rolls past midday, then stands up. “C’mon, this is making me hungry. I bet the food’s done, now.”

The apartment is three storeys tall, with two small, boxy rooms on each level, all wrapped around a steep, spiralling central staircase. Artha can hear the echoing bounce of conversation from the kitchen – it’s entirely possible that the food’s been done for a while now, and Kitt has been stalling Seleb and Conner from going to search for their respective sons. She’s capable like that.

Parm reaches the bottom of the staircase first, and then pauses. Even with Kitt stalling, they probably shouldn’t take their time, but Artha allows him the hesitancy. “You alright?” he asks quietly, glancing at the doorway to the kitchen. They’re just out of sight in the stairwell.

“Yes,” Parm says, but he still looks slightly twitchy. He takes a deep breath and says, “Do you remember, during the Atlantean period, there used to be a traditional greeting under dragontoe trees?”

“What, the kissing plant?” Artha replies, thinking of hazy memories of his mom teasing his dad about it. “Parm, we should really—”

Parm is looking toward the ceiling. Artha looks up too. And there, hanging from a rung of the staircase, is a sprig of dragontoe, its distinctive claw-shaped leaves pointing downwards at the both of them.

“It’s more symbolic than anything, really,” Parm says, all in a rush, and then leans forward and kisses Artha on the cheek.

It only lasts a second, but Artha swears it sticks on his cheek like a Bone Mark.

“Finally,” Kitt says from the kitchen doorway. Parm squawks in shock. Kitt just smirks and continues, “We’ve been waiting forever; come on, we’re hungry!”

It takes Artha a lot longer than he’s proud of to process what she’s said. “Yeah, sure,” he says finally, grabbing Parm by the hand and pulling him into the kitchen.

The table is decked out with two pies, a plate of roasted meats, and a huge bowl of what looks like different kinds of leaves, and at the head of it, Seleb is nudging her cutlery back and forth. She looks up as they come in and smiles faintly.

“Parmon,” she says, “we didn’t want to start without you.”

Parm, for the first time that day, doesn’t breathe a word about how that is, in fact, how the tradition goes. “Oh,” he says instead. “Thanks, Mum.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Lance says, “So can we eat now?”

Conner laughs and ruffles his over-long hair. “Dig in, Lance,” he says fondly, and everyone takes it as a cue to start loading up their plates. It’s only when Artha reaches for a slice of pie across the table that he realises he’s still holding Parm’s hand. He glances over to see Parm studiously avoiding his eye in favour of carefully placing leafmix on his plate, but there’s a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth, so Artha just squeezes the hand in his and goes back to his food.

Lance snorts every time he drops something while trying to use his fork left-handed, and Conner keeps giving him Looks that promise another well-meaning interrogation about his romantic life later, but it’s worth it. It just makes everything feel like home, anyway.

 


End file.
